Chapter3: Sexy reincarnate
A sexy ooze of a voice spoke.
'Hey Ben, it's Sam, baby'
'Didn’t I ask you not to call me Ben?', shouted Benedict
'Would it make you feel better if I called you sweetie pie instead?'
'Didn't I tell you not to call here again?'
'O, come on. How would your life taste without me, Ben?' giggled miss sexy.
Benedict pulled the phone chord over to the sofa and lied there listening to blonde Samantha giggle and laugh in absolute hysteria, picturing her strapped into a white shirt inside a pillow-walled room, giving her excuses to gloat and mock, creating reasons for himself to listen. He knows she's blonde because she said so.
'Samantha, what do you want?' asked Benedict rhetorically.
'Not in a mood for a little chit-chat are you?'
'My rate is still a dollar twenty five you know'
'Baby, you're worth much more than that. How about two bucks?', again giggled the mischievous voice.
'Like I need that'
'Aww… it must be time for your fix now. I can make it all go away. Just ask the initiative question.'
'Initiative! Wow! That's a big word for you. A-word-a-day toilet paper, is it?'
'Benny baby. Just ask', whispered the sexy vocal chords.
Benedict asked like it was inevitable. He knew that he was going to give in anyway. He had no control. He asked because all things began with a question even the notion of freedom, love, sex, existence, war, and God.
'What are you wearing?' asked Benedict, and so began the conversation.
'Breathe', Samantha leaked into Benedict's mind.
Benedict dropped the phone handle on the sofa carelessly, stood up half straight, and walked towards the window. He liked to stare through at the city line in the morning. He enjoyed it even more at night when everyone out there were invisible, when he could just stand there by his fifth floor apartment window and feel king over all; but how far really can a person get? Benedict's apparition of a home was on the fifth floor of a 19th century design 15-storey building. Two elevators yet he always took the stairs. He stops for breath for a minute on the fourth floor and wonder why he hasn't taken the elevator, only by then it's too late to go back down and he's got to go all the way up. It's been like that ever since his divorce. He thought that could mark a healthy change phase for him. The phase passed, but change was still nowhere near. He believed that with time he could take the stairs to his apartment and that he did. He thought that change was possible. but being foolish is not a habit. It lurks in the genes that get passed over from one generation to the next, until all that remains is plain stupidity.
Abstractedly, Benedict walked back to the sofa and picked the handle and placed it close to his ears, close enough for him to feel that all the sex in the world grouped against him in the form of a voice that waits for him to give in, for him to fall.
'Break loose of it all. Don't resist. Follow your survival instincts, your animalistic first impression. Ejaculate your fears and doubts. Mourn them with an erotic grin. Satisfaction is all about…', whispered the sexy bitch.
He knew it won't be over that easy.
'Satisfaction?', he thought, as he dropped the phone handle on the ever-green sofa that reminds him of the lawn he had back then when he was a husband, a successful and disciplined employee at REX, a Good Samaritan, back then when he had what he often refers to as 'a life'. He sat at what he referred to as his 'dining table' which was just about a bumpy surface and four legs that didn't match in height and were shaped as tree trunks, probably to bring a Caribbean feel to the pimp hole this place was once. He grabbed his divorce papers copy and stared at her signature at the bottom; cursive, too cursive actually; that was how fast she must have signed.
'Had I gotten to be that unbearable?!', thought Benedict to the surrounding emptiness he bore around.
Benedict walked over to the sofa and leaned over to place his face close enough to the headset to hear the sexy thing at the other side of his parallel universe.
'Relax… Adapt', said the sexy blonde.
'Adaptation. The magic word', he daydreamed as he dropped to his knees; 'If only I had a magic lamp to make it all go away, to start from scratch. If only I could run and start fresh and clean, baptized. If only I could resurrect H. G. Wells and ask him to invent a time machine and send me back in time, back before I was divorced, before I got fired, before I got married, before I went to school, before my father died, before I had my first cry, before I was born, before I was shaped into fetus, before I was a nuclei. I just want to vanish. That! That would be my fair adaptation.'
Benedict's eyes rolled over and stopped at a spot on the floor, at that article he tore out of page 32 and crawled over towards it, reached out, and held tight to it, like the two year old boy he was when it happened, and so began the water works.
People still look at him and see a splitting image of his father. However, the way Benedict sees himself; he's not half the man his father used to be. Every morning Benedict wakes up to enjoy a long stare at his shattered reflection in the broken mirror hanging in his apartment and sees nothing but a fool trying to justify his distorted mentality by rebelling against mankind, emotionally and silently. His father actually believed in those odd cult-fiction words he used to write and demonstrate about. His father was a hero. Frank barely exists.
John Samuel Benedict was a man of principles, something that doesn't come around these days. Not so unlike today, John grew up in a time of dormant wars. Opinions were controlled by expired food products and hollywoodized movie features, slavery was not unethical and had become more of a profession to help people survive, and politics was merely a major for yuppies of the society to study at expensive big shot universities. It seems like time has frozen since then and everything that has ever survived back then still survives now, except for John who was left behind, underground. Unlike Frank, John was a man of faith and was two steps away from becoming a full-time saint. 'A time will come when everything and everyone you've ever known will treat you like total strangers, and when that time dwells upon you, faith will be the answer to your questions. Seek God, for He knows.' That's what he used to say to little Frankie, the little man shit.
'Oh Benny Baby', oozed the sexiness of the world. 'Are you up for another round, you big wild dog?'
By that time, he had her on speaker.
'You bet I am', whispered the reincarnated soul.
Яαgιи' Яανєи
